


Invitation to the Jellicle Ball

by Good_Ol_Jinx_Mgee



Category: Cats (1998), Cats (2019), Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:47:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29690418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_Ol_Jinx_Mgee/pseuds/Good_Ol_Jinx_Mgee
Summary: Demeter lives her quiet life as a writer, content to leave her past where it belongs. But after she gets a mysterious invitation in the mail from the famed Dame Deuteronomy, she finds herself entangled at a ball, with familiar faces and unfamiliar names, twirling in a dazzling game of inheritance, wealth, and contest.And eventually, it isn't just a game of "who wins".It becomes a game of "who lives".
Relationships: Bombalurina/Rum Tum Tugger, Jemima/Victoria (Cats), Mr. Mistoffelees/Rum Tum Tugger (Cats)
Kudos: 3





	Invitation to the Jellicle Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!!!! So uhhhhh this is my love letter to Cats. Cats has always been my favorite musical and I got this idea in my head one night while I was hopped up on melatonin. It's a human AU that will hit the same beats as the musical. It's unrated right now because I don't know how far into Demeter and Macavity's history I'll go, but the implied abuse featured in the show will still be included. But I will ALWAYS give a warning in the before notes when anything potentially triggering comes up, and if I forget something, PLEASE let me know.
> 
> Thanks so much for joining me, and enjoy :)

When she got the invitation in the mail, she wasn't quite sure what to think.  
First of all, it was addressed to "Demeter", but also her real name. When she cautiously tore it open, and read its contents, she couldn't believe it.  
She had been invited to a ball to be given by Dame Deuteronomy?  
The Dame?  
She read over the instructions again and again, scouring the pages for any sort of clue or hint as to what this could have possibly been about. But all it said was that she was invited, to refer to herself only as Demeter, and that it was a formal ball, so dress for the occasion.

Demeter was a writer, and a rather successful one at that. So, it was no problem finding a gown, and it suited her dark red hair. It wasn't very expensive, but it was pretty- dark gold and fitted, flaring at the back and bottom, like something out of the late 1800s. She felt confident in it. Like wearing a second skin. 

However, on the night of the event, when the car came to pick her up, she anxiously sat in the back seat, picking at her nails and adjusting the neckline of her dress. She was forced to wonder, why her?

She had only one interaction with the Dame, and it terrified her. It was her bow out from the acting industry a few years ago. It was a vanity show, and everyone fell in love. But regardless of how kind the Dame was, and how talented she had once been, Demeter was slightly immune to her charms, and was disappointed in the performance. She published this when she was still writing entertainment columns at a local paper. 

Surely, the Dame wasn’t inviting her because of this slight? Was it some kind of sick, twisted revenge? Inviting her just to humiliate her in front of all her rich friends?

But the Dame had been in the industry for nearly fifty years. Demeter wasn’t the first to critique a performance, even if she was among the last. There might even be people at this gala that could have been rivals- enemies, even. If the dress was any indication, rich people would be there as well. And rich people, even if they are friends, are also enemies.

This made Demeter’s mind rest a little as the car pulled up to a metal gate, flanked by tall shrubberies. The driver leaned out his window, said something into a receiver, and the gate creaked open, slowly. They pulled through, and Demeter craned her neck to see through the windshield. She gasped.

Past the wide driveway was a grand fountain, and past the fountain was a magnificent mansion. And Demeter used to think the Broadway theatres were the nicest buildings she’d ever step foot in. This house could put Hirschfeld to shame.

Other long, black cars were both in front and behind Demeter’s ride. The car ahead of her stopped at steep, marble stairs, and a tall, dark, gorgeous woman stepped out, her golden silk slip clinging to her every movement. Demeter’s breath caught. She suddenly felt very, very, insecure. Sure, she was dressed up nice, but she herself wasn’t anything special. She was a writer from little old nowhere. She was a manged cat among purebreds.

Her car stopped, and she gulped, her hand secured on the door handle. But it was taken out from under her by a man opening the door, gesturing for her to exit. She thanked the driver quietly and stepped out, her $25 strappy heels nearly buckling under her, and the nice man standing by caught her, his hand moving to the small of her back. Instinctively, she bristled and moved away. The man seemed to recognize this and apologized, and Demeter assured him it was alright, but it didn’t feel anything close to that. She breathed, gathered herself, and lifted her skirt, making her way up the stairs. Two men stood at the double doors, and they swung open, revealing…

A hallway. 

It was nice, sure, but it wasn’t the grandiose entrance she’d been expecting. It was capped with gilded archways and surrounded by extravagant, renaissance murals of cats and dogs frolicking together. Demeter stalled, observing one painting in particular. It depicted a golden field, filled with shepherds and maidens facing a blue cliff, and at the edge of the cliff was an old woman, draped in gold, hands raised in a V towards a particularly large, yellow moon. Demeter let her eyes fall to the placard at the bottom:

"The Jellicle Choice" by Valerie Stearns

Demeter looked up once again to the woman at the cliff. Something itched in her mind, and she drew closer. 

"Shit," she muttered.

It was the Dame.

A door opened, causing Demeter to jump. She turned to the source of the sound, finding a side door open, and a familiar face stepping out. Her breath hitched.

They stared at each other for a while. He looked good. His dark hair was slicked back to the best of his ability, she knew, but flew up in certain places. He was wearing a gray, almost silver formal set, and a silver bowtie.

He looked almost as surprised to see her and she did him.

"I-" she began, but he held up a hand.

"Munkustrap," he said quickly. "That's my name this evening. And you're… Demeter, correct?"

He knew he name, so he must have known of her attendance. Which means he was, in some way, involved. He had been a manager when they first met. She wondered if she was managing this event as well.

"Yeah," she said, words failing her. Typical, she thought. Her writer's brain was dead.

"Well,"

"Yes!" She said.

"Of course," he finished. Then, after an awkward shuffle, he presented his arm to her. She smiled. He was the same, after all this time.

She took his arm, grateful for the moral and physical support. The last thing she needed was falling on her face as soon as she entered the ballroom.

It felt strange, she had to admit, to be this close to him again. But it was familiar. It was remarkably safe. 

They stopped before the door and Munkustrap gave it a quiet knock. 

"Obviously, you are, in some way, behind this?"

He turned to her and gave her that small, all knowing smirk that made her stomach flip.

"We're both going in a little blind."

And then the doors opened.


End file.
